


Connecting Ties

by Nuanta



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Storytelling, basically a narrative game of telephone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:41:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28485531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nuanta/pseuds/Nuanta
Summary: Unfinished Fable: A children’s fable that ends partway through. It probably belongs to someone who likes writing stories.Seteth's lost an item, and a story, that is dear to him. It finds its way back to him in an unexpected fashion.Written for Lost & Found.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Mercedes von Martritz, Caspar von Bergliez & Ashe Duran | Ashe Ubert & Linhardt von Hevring, Marianne von Edmund & Hilda Valentine Goneril, My Unit | Byleth & Seteth, Raphael Kirsten & Ignatz Victor, Sylvain Jose Gautier & Bernadetta von Varley
Comments: 6
Kudos: 43





	Connecting Ties

**Author's Note:**

> I'm excited to share the piece I wrote for the Lost & Found zine! It's completely different from anything else I've ever written, so it was definitely an experience in stepping out of my comfort zone. And hey, I even threw a little Easter egg in there. Enjoy!

It is always a grave concern when Seteth of all people loses his composure.

He paces the halls, hurriedly barging into empty offices and classrooms, frantically searching. When he enters one of the rooms to find Byleth staring blankly at him, he sighs, and some of the tension releases from his shoulders. 

“My apologies for the intrusion. I seem to have misplaced something. I thought perhaps I’d left it in the classroom while I was supervising detention yesterday afternoon, but…” 

Byleth cocks their head to one side. “What did you lose?” 

“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” comes the curt reply. 

Byleth considers. “I’d offer to let you know if I see it, but not knowing what it is would make that rather difficult.”

Seteth huffs, looking down at the floor. “The thought is…appreciated,” he says. “If you must know, I’d been working on a little surprise for Flayn in my spare time. I could always start over, but she’s nearly finished the last one I—” He abruptly cuts himself off, shaking his head firmly. “In any case, it would be easier if I did not have to.”

Byleth hums thoughtfully. “It will turn up eventually,” they settle for. 

That seems to be the way of things, here at Garreg Mach. 

~o~

Linhardt slumbers even as the classroom empties. 

Caspar groans audibly. “Wake up already, Linhardt! Everyone’s gone!” 

Ashe shushes him. “He’s tired.” He keeps his voice low, a stark contrast to Caspar’s boisterous shout. “Let him get his rest.”

“He can get his rest _outside_. It’s such a nice day out, how can we spend it indoors? No, sir, we are getting out of—oh hey, what’s this?” 

“What’s what?” Ashe follows Caspar’s gaze, then his steps, which turns into taking a detour around a desk that Caspar practically leaps over to grab a small, leather-bound book. “Oh. Someone must have forgotten it here. Does it have a name?”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Caspar frowns as he flips through the pages. “It looks like a story. _The Gryphon and the Tortoise._ What’s that supposed to even be about? I guess gryphons are cool, but this seems pretty lame.”

“That sounds fascinating!” Ashe exclaims, reaching to take the book from Caspar’s lax fingers. He reads through it quickly and voraciously. “They’re described as proper intelligent creatures, even if they’re also supposedly giant demonic beasts. Oh! They have a friendly wager with each other, and then…”” About halfway through, he blinks, aghast. “It’s not finished! And their dragon friend was just about to call the start of the race, too. Wow, I wonder what was going to happen next. There are so many angles the writer could take with this…”

“Why don’t you write it?” 

“I could never! That would be stealing someone else’s work!” 

“What? No, you’ve got it all wrong. It’s not stealing. You’re creating your own twist. You’d be doing the author a favor by helping them finish it!” 

Ashe deliberates, evidently torn. “Okay,” he says softly, more to himself than anything. Louder, then, as if the proclamation will solidify his resolve: “Okay!” 

He settles into a seat at the desk, pulls his quill out of his bag, and starts writing. 

His nose is mere inches away from the page, his hand furiously scribbling away, when Linhardt’s long yawn startles him. He’d tuned out Caspar’s persistent endeavors to wake their friend, but it seems the efforts have finally succeeded. 

“Great!” Caspar says, clapping his hands. “Now we can go outside.” 

“Only—only if—” Linhardt stifles another yawn. “Only if we find a good spot in the shade. I dislike napping with the sun in my face.” 

Ashe sighs and surveys his work. He hasn’t finished, but it’s a good stopping point. And hopefully the author will appreciate the addition. 

In the meantime, just to be safe, he leaves the book on a seat at the other end of the classroom and follows Caspar and Linhardt out the door.

~o~ 

“Hey, Bernadetta! I think I found your—”

“Eek! I didn’t do it! Don’t hurt me!”

Sylvain stops in his tracks in the middle of the path connecting the classrooms to the dormitories, brow furrowing. “I don’t know if we’re talking about the same thing yet, but I’m definitely not here to hurt you.” He holds out a dark, leather-bound book. “I think this is yours.”

Bernadetta’s lips purse as she scrutinizes the item from a careful distance, still curled in on herself. “Um, why would you think this is mine?” 

“It was at your desk in the classroom.” 

“Well, it’s not mine! It doesn’t even look like one of my notebooks!” 

Sylvain takes a step back and raises a hand in the air in surrender. “Hey, sorry, I just thought it might be yours since someone’s written a really cool story inside, and you write really well.” 

“ _You’ve been snooping and reading my things_?!” 

“I thought you just said this wasn’t yours!”

“W-Well, this one isn’t, but—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvain reassures her. “You don’t have to hide this from me. Your story’s really good! You built up the tension of the debate leading into the bet really well, and the start of the race really threw me for a loop.” 

She steps forward, her curiosity piqued. “C-Can I see it?” Sylvain passes the book to her, and she scans through it. “Definitely not mine, but…it’s written by two different people! The handwriting changes here, and the style changes too.” 

“Well then, you should contribute something as well!” 

Bernadetta shakes her head vigorously. “Oh no, no one wants to hear about how the gryphon and the tortoise’s arguments are really just a front to mask their found family feelings—” 

“That is _exactly_ what I want to hear!” Sylvain insists. 

“Okay, okay, I’ll do it!” She cowers as Sylvain hovers excitedly. “But you can’t be here! I can’t work under this pressure!”

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll take my leave.” Sylvain salutes as he takes a few backwards steps before continuing on his way. “Happy writing!” 

Bernadetta curls next to a bush and starts to write, ideas flowing readily from mind to page—until the reality of what she’s doing catches up to her, and she tosses the book into the bush and races for the safe retreat of her room. 

~o~ 

“I’ve found the cutest thing!” 

“What’s that?” Marianne asks. 

Hilda holds up a book, opened to the first page, written in fancy calligraphy with a flourish, _The Gryphon and the Tortoise_. 

“A book?” 

“I’ve read through it. I think it’s supposed to be a fable.” Hilda shrugs as they stroll to the stables. “But it’s not finished, and there are three different styles of handwriting in it, so I think it’s being passed around. Isn’t that such a cute idea?” 

“Mhm. And if people are adding to it… Fables usually have illustrations, don’t they?” 

Hilda’s eyes shine. “They do! I should add some!” 

“That would be really nice, I think,” Marianne says with a smile. “You can draw while I’m checking in on Dorte, so you won’t be so bored.”

“Great!” Hilda stretches hugely and looks up at the sky, bright and blue as far as the eye can see. “I wonder what I should draw. There’s a giant gryphon and a giant tortoise, and they ended up in a shouting match until they decided to have a race.” 

“The starting line could be nice,” Marianne offers. 

“Ooooh, yes.” Hilda gestures emphatically. “I can see it now—both of them raring to go, maybe they’re glaring at each other—” 

Marianne listens and nods and even giggles a bit as Hilda goes on to speculate what she can doodle along the margins, silly animal faces or pretty patterned borders. They spend a delightful afternoon together: Marianne tending her horse and Hilda her sketches. Hilda shows each one to Marianne to gain approval before moving on to the next. (Dorte snorts, though it’s a little more difficult to gauge his opinion.) When the day is done, Hilda leaves the book behind, and she and Marianne migrate together to the dining hall, satisfied with their accomplishments. 

~o~ 

Mercedes discovers the book next, while walking with Annette after undertaking a brief errand to the armory. They choose a nice sitting spot in the gardens to read it together while they partake in the freshly baked scones they carry for a picnic. 

“That’s it?” Annette cries, flaky crumbs falling everywhere, when Mercedes finishes reading aloud. “Where’s the ending? Who wins the race?” 

“The story’s not finished. It looks like people have been adding to it, but didn’t get to the end yet.”

“We need to finish it!” Annette declares. “There needs to be a winner in this race. A come from behind victory for the tortoise!” 

Mercedes smiles. “Why don’t you write that in, then?”

“Me?” Annette gapes, nearly dropping the chocolate and strawberry scone she’s holding precariously close to her mouth.

“Sure, why not?” Mercedes passes the open book across the table to Annette, where the writing had paused in the middle of the page. 

Annette studies the words carefully. “They’re still in the middle of the race, and the tortoise is far behind,” she muses. Her eyes fly wide open and she bolts upright in her seat as the lightning flash of inspiration hits. “I know! The gryphon is so focused on being speedy that he doesn’t realize he’s running straight into the tortoise’s clever pitfall trap!” 

An agreeing nod. “Is that going to hold him up long enough for the tortoise to finally catch up to him, though?” 

Annette shakes her head. “No, not yet. The gryphon will climb out and keep going. But then he’ll get caught in another trap! And another! And the tortoise will reveal his latent magical powers and sprout giant scaly wings from his shell! And he’ll fly, high above the track, over the gryphon who’s stuck in his trap, and stick his giant tortoise tongue out at him as he passes, and over the finish line he goes to win the race!” 

Cheerful laughter rings through the air, both girls enjoying their time, company, and words. Storytime is always wonderful, with the exception of Mercedes’ ghost stories, and here it is natural for Mercedes to poke and prod, to question just enough for Annette to flesh out her ideas that she fervently scribbles to the page. 

When they are done with their scones and stories, Annette closes the book, only a few pages left unfilled, and they head back to the dining hall to eagerly attempt baking another batch. 

~o~ 

“Hey, Ignatz, I think I found something you’ll really like!” 

Ignatz turns from where he is sitting by the pier to find Raphael lumbering towards him down the staircase that stems from the dining hall. Raphael waves in greeting, but there’s also something in his hand. 

It is only once he gets closer that Ignatz can make out the leather-bound book. “What’s in that book?” 

“It looks like a story of some magical creatures in some sort of race to see who’s the best,” Raphael answers. “The gryphon thinks he has the upper hand the whole way through, but then the tortoise pulls all sorts of sneaky tricks to beat him! I would have just relied on my strength and speed, but brains played a bigger part in the end.” 

Ignatz takes the book as Raphael settles beside him and reads through it. “Oh,” he notes. “This was written by multiple people. And there are illustrations.” 

“I bet you could do a great job illustrating a story like this,” Raphael says earnestly. 

A pink tinge creeps its way across Ignatz’s cheeks. “It would be really fun if I could. Based on their initial dialogue, the tortoise strikes me as someone who is very shy, opening up to only the select few that he cares about. But he must be crafty and talented to be able to set up those kinds of traps. And the gryphon, by the end, is very vengeful and bitter that he lost. I would love to portray something like that.” 

“Then go for it!” Raphael urges. “Look, there’s empty pages at the end, and you even said other people worked on this, so why not add some paintings?” 

Ignatz hunches his shoulders. “Do you really think I should? What if the owner of the book didn’t want me to paint in it? What if they only wanted specific people?” 

“I don’t think they’d have left it lying around,” Raphael reasons. 

“Oh. You might have a point.” 

“Then go for it!” 

Ignatz does. His materials are ready anyways, all set up for a pleasant afternoon of what was supposed to be a landscape of the pond, but this story is simply too intriguing. He fills the blank pages at the end of the book with lively portraits of the tortoise, the gryphon, and even the green dragon friend who stood as the arbitrator of their race. Raphael gushes over his art, always sincerely supportive, and helps him pack up his ink and pastels for the day once the work is done. 

It’s not safe leaving the book out here in the open, so Ignatz takes it with them as they head back to their rooms, and he deposits it on a bench near the hedges instead, in the hopes that whoever discovers it next can sit down with a lovely read. 

~o~

Byleth finds the book when they step out of their room and meander towards the greenhouses. That has seemed to be the way of things, after all—it’s not the first time they’ve found an odd lost item lying around, and the process of hunting down the owner has been a worthwhile learning experience. So they pick it up without a second thought and turn to the first page to check for a clue as to the book’s owner. 

It strikes them as a story one would read to their children growing up. A tad disjointed, but complete with illustrations. Something to spark some joy on a dear one’s face. 

It’s clearly the fruit of a larger scale collaboration, with the differences in penmanship and art styles involved, but Byleth suspects that was not the original intent, and wonders if that even matters, at this point. 

They locate Seteth upstairs, and Byleth doesn’t even need to say anything. The moment they approach with the book in hand, Seteth’s face lights up.

“Yes, this is mine!” he exclaims, gratefully accepting it before his face steels over into his usual formality. “Thank you for returning it.” 

Byleth merely nods. They leave Seteth, and his surprise, with a smile on their face.

**Author's Note:**

> The Easter egg is who that fable is really about. ;) 
> 
> [@nuanta_fic](https://twitter.com/nuanta_fic)


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